


The Somnambulist

by Harlanhardway (Target44)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Fluff, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, New York City
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 15:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17789594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Target44/pseuds/Harlanhardway
Summary: Two strangers meet at a lunch counter in mid-twentieth century New York City.





	The Somnambulist

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zigster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zigster/gifts).



> My prompt was "mid-century modern." I don't know a lot about that school of design so I took the cowards way out and made a period piece. I hope it's to your liking anyway :)) This first chapter is pretty short but there is more coming, it probably could have been posted as a one-shot, but I was a bit slow to get started working on it so it's going to have to be a few very short chapters instead ^_^;;

"It is never a perfect day for Bananafish."

 

Arthur looked up from his reading to see who had spoken.A man had seated himself to Arthur's left at the lunch counter and, this being New York and a Sunday afternoon and Arthur himself a lifelong New Yorker (except for those couple of years he does his best not to think about, but they were involuntary and anyways almost a decade ago and so really should not count) had ignored him.

 

The man was looking at him now.Blue eyes and neatly combed blond hair, broad shoulders inside a well-fitted suit jacket, unshaven and no tie.

 

Arthur stirred his coffee, twice clockwise and three times counterclockwise.

 

The man smiled in a friendly way, then leaned in conspiratorially."I don't mean to interrupt, but from one former serviceman to another: don't read the ending."

 

He had the educated kind of British accent one might expect to hear on the BBC, only it wasn’t quite condescending enough for Arthur to think he came by it honestly.A self-made man then, maybe.He had also clocked Arthur's military career and either read over Arthur's shoulder without him noticing, or correctly guessed which of J. D. Salinger's, "Nine Stories," Arthur was reading in a collection that had literally just come out that week.

 

The military career was not a difficult leap giving the year, 1953, and Arthur's age, thirty, "A Perfect Day for Bananafish" was Salinger’s most famous work to date and there were many uninteresting ways for a main to gain an education.

 

Arthur closed his book and put it down on the counter.

 

But three intriguing things were still three intriguing things and the man was still looking at him, having leaned back in his seat again, like he had all the patience in the world to wait for Arthur to decide whether or not to give him the time of day.

 

Arthur raised an eyebrow and picked up his spoon again, stirring his coffee twice to the right and three times to the left."How about a compromise: I read the ending, but promise not to clean my gun tonight."

 

"Ah, you've already read it then." 

 

"When they first ran it in the New Yorker," Arthur confirmed, adding silently to himself, _And about five hundred more times when I typeset the damn thing._

 

He surreptitiously checked his fingernails for any sign of ink or grit or grease, but they were clean, as always.Arthur had been working in the typesetting department of Little, Brown and Company for seven years and he prided himself on both the accuracy of his product and the cleanliness of his person.One was, in his opinion, a direct reflection of the other.

 

"Well,” the man was speaking again, “so long as you know what you're getting into."

 

"I have been more than adequately prepared."

 

Arthur’s response hung in the air for a second as they looked at each other and the conversation could very easily have been allowed to end there.But something about the tilt of the man's head, the relaxed set of his shoulders and the way he ran his thumb across the pads of his fingers as he thought, that made Arthur lean forward instead.

 

"Arthur,” he said, putting his hand out.

 

The man quirked an eyebrow in surprise, but smiled as he took Arthur’s hand."Eames."His handshake was firm, his hand warm and dry, though not a particularly rough. _Not a workman then._

 

"So, Mr. Eames,” Arthur started, taking his hand back, “do you dislike all works of fiction or just this one in particular?"

 

"Neither, Salinger is one of the best." Eames drolled."Nothing tells us the truth about ourselves quite like a good lie."He had a low voice and didn't project, speaking just loudly enough to be heard over the din of the other diners.Arthur had to resist the urge to lean in even further.

 

"So why were you warning me away, then?"

 

Eames shrugged."There are more pleasant deeper truths to focus on, other than how far away we all might be from suicide."

 

Arthur raised an eyebrow.“I didn’t realize there was such a thing as a pleasant truth.Do share."

 

"Love is a many-splendored thing."

 

Arthur burst out laughing.

 

Eames was still watching him, though now with a slightly crooked grin on his face, and the sight of which only made Arthur laugh harder."Oh, Christ, “ he choked out, “I thought for sure you were about to bring up God, but now I can’t decide if this is worse: you're a idealist."

 

Eames continued to smile, unapologetically."Guilty as charged."

 

"I’m surprised they let you off the boat.”

 

“They let you dream a little bigger when you travel by air."

 

Arthur shook his head still chuckling to himself as he picked up his book again."Yes, of course: think happy thoughts, reach for the stars, live in the moment.Excellent advice.Really.Very insightful."

 

"Oh come now, give me some credit.”The man’s voice was pleasant and teasing.“I never said to live in the moment: dreams are ever so much better."

 

Arthur decided that he liked his voice.

 

Smiling even as he shook his head in denial and turned back towards his book, Arthur responded, "I like to keep my reality firmly separated from my fiction."

 

The sun shone brightly in through the window, warming Arthur’s back.Eames had found a stripe of shade to lean back into as he ashed his cigarette.Arthur watched him do it out of the corner of his eye.The shade suited him.It suited him the way his blond hair suited him and his blue eyes suited him and his pleasant smile suited him.The world seemed to relax around him, more at ease for having him in it."But,” Arthur continued with some finality, “good luck finding love in this city anyways, Mr. Eames."

 

"Stranger things have happened."

 

Arthur made no response, just stirred his coffee and read his book, not looking up again until Eames had gone.


End file.
